


Hardly Golden

by glim



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Crying, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pre-Captain America: The First Avenger
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-22
Updated: 2017-07-22
Packaged: 2018-12-05 06:37:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11572446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glim/pseuds/glim
Summary: Steve didn’t cry at the funeral, and he didn’t cry during the service at the cemetery for his mother, but when Bucky holds his hands, the control he holds over himself starts to slip, silently.





	Hardly Golden

“My ma don’t care. Becca don’t care.” Bucky follows Steve into the empty apartment and rests his hand on Steve’s shoulder after closing the door behind them. “There’s room for you there. We want you there.” 

“I know, Buck.” Steve’s hands are shaking as he puts the spare key down on the counter and he balls them into fists. He thinks Bucky won’t notice, maybe. “I think I just need some time.” 

Bucky notices; he makes it his job to notice things like the way Steve can’t stop his hands from shaking, how he can’t keep his breath steady, either. 

He pulls Steve over to the sofa, pulls Steve down to sit next to him, pulls Steve’s hands into his own. 

“Okay, then I’ll stay here with you for a couple days. I already got today off work, tomorrow’s Friday, then it’s the weekend.” 

Steve didn’t cry at the funeral, and he didn’t cry during the service at the cemetery for his mother, but when Bucky holds his hands, the control he holds over himself starts to slip, silently. Only when he lets Bucky pull him in closer, when his face is pressed into Bucky’s chest, does he actually cry. It comes over him slowly, a tremor that runs through his body first, the trembling that starts in his shoulders and that becomes a shudder when he lets out a broken-sounding sob. 

“There,” Bucky murmurs into Steve’s hair, “it’s alright, I’m gonna make it alright for you, Stevie… we’re gonna be alright,” he says, and tightens his arms around Steve. “You and me, okay?” 

He rubs one hand up and down Steve’s back, doesn’t stop as long as the crying continues, and making a quiet hushing sound when Steve starting coughing between sobs. Bucky’s shirt front feels damp after a few minutes, and Steve’s thin frame still shudders with each sob, so Bucky tries to pull him in even closer, as if he could take on some of that grief and pain himself. 

And, god, he would, if it meant making Steve’s life a little easier. That’s what they do, him and Steve, they look after each other. 

When the storm of crying starts to settle and Steve’s breathing doesn’t sound like he’s on the verge of wheezing anymore, Bucky pats him on the back and nudges his nose through Steve’s hair. 

“You feelin’ better?” 

Steve doesn’t look up immediately, but sniffles against Bucky’s shirt and rubs his face in against Bucky with a small nod. 

“Don’t need to hold all that in, not in front of me.” 

Steve nods again, and when he looks up, his face is a mess of red-rimmed, watery eyes and a runny nose. He’s sniffling constantly now, damp, exhausted sniffles that threaten to make him start coughing. His eyes and nose are both damp, and his lips tremble when he looks at Bucky.

If the situation were different, if the tears weren’t so grief-stricken, Bucky thinks, maybe, this would be the moment he dips his head down and kisses Steve. Everything’s a little too raw, too desperate tonight, though, and Steve deserves better than that. 

Bucky reaches over to rub some of the tears from Steve’s face with his thumb, tracking their path from the corner of his eyes, down the side of his nose, and over his cheeks. Any other time, Steve would jerk away from the attention. Christ, any other time, Bucky’s not even sure Steve would let Bucky see him cry. Bucky strokes his thumb over Steve’s face, and then reaches into his pocket for a handkerchief and does the same job with the clean, folded cloth. 

Steve pulls away from the touch at first, a glimmer of his usual defiance in his eyes, and Bucky can absolutely tell he’s trying not to sniffle or cough anymore. His nose quivers between breaths, pink around the edges where he’s rubbed at it already, and he flushes, embarrassed, when he finally has to give in and sniffle wetly. 

“Here,” Bucky says and hands over the cloth, unfolded, to Steve. 

“Thanks, Bucky…” Steve peers over the edge of the handkerchief, his eyes still damp with tears, and doesn’t curl in on himself to blow his nose until Bucky’s hand rests on his back once more. Like the crying fit, it’s unrestrained, and Steve has to cough and wipe his eyes a couple times before he’s done. 

When he’s finished, he just looks tired. There are a few soft sniffles and coughs, and Steve lets out a shaky sigh as he moves away from Bucky. His eyes and nose are red, and he keeps rubbing at them, swiping away the sniffles that keep coming, though less often now. 

Finally, he balls the cloth up into the palm of his hand; Steve gives himself a shake and sets his shoulders. “I should--” 

Bucky shakes his head and rests his hand on Steve’s arm to pull him into the sofa again. “I’m gonna get you a glass of water or a cup of tea, and I’ll turn on the radio, and we’re just gonna rest here a while, okay?” 

“If you’re stayin’, I want the place comfortable for you. I got dinner to heat up, leftovers from Mrs. Kavanagh, and blankets and pillows…” 

Bucky smoothes his hand down from the nape of Steve’s neck to the small of his back. He knows Steve, he ain’t gonna just sit here while Bucky heats up dinner and puts together a makeshift bed on the floor of Steve’s room, no matter how exhausted he is. 

“Okay, you do dinner, I’ll pull out a couple blankets.” 

Steve hesitates, then says, “Alright. We can eat here in the sitting room.” 

Bucky nods his approval. Later, when dinner’s hot, and there’s a pile of blankets on the floor next to Steve’s bed, and they’re both settled on the sofa again in their shirtsleeves and stocking feet, Bucky pulls Steve back in close to him. 

“I ruined your shirt,” Steve says. He touches Bucky’s chest, and his long, slim fingers stroke gently where he’d cried all over Bucky. 

Bucky shrugs. “It’ll clean up. You can even wash it for me.” He touches the back of Steve’s hand, though, warmly, and hugs him around the shoulders again. “We’re gonna be alright, Stevie,” he says quietly. 

Steve looks at him with an expression that threatens tears again, but rests his head against Bucky’s shoulder. “Yeah, we are.” 

If, later on, Bucky turns the radio on after dinner and lets Steve fall asleep curled against his chest, or if he pulls the blankets from the floor onto Steve’s bed and falls asleep himself, curled protectively around Steve, well, that ain’t nobody’s business but their own.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Band of Horses's [The Funeral](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UPW8y6woTBI).


End file.
